


Deja New

by andveryginger, Keldae



Series: Deja New [2]
Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Double Agents, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Spies & Secret Agents, non-canon backstory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-21
Updated: 2018-11-21
Packaged: 2019-08-27 07:40:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16698214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andveryginger/pseuds/andveryginger, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keldae/pseuds/Keldae
Summary: This... was going to be a problem. (AKA Reanden discovers he has a type.)





	Deja New

**Author's Note:**

> Joint effort this time, Ginger and Jawa.

**_Slippery Slopes Cantina  
_** **_Lower Promenade, Nar Shaddaa_**  
 ** _3641 BBY | 12 ATC_**

 

The Slippery Slopes Cantina, situated on the lower level of the Grand Promenade on Nar Shaddaa made an almost ideal location to schedule a meet. Outside the confines of Republic and Imperial jurisdictions, it served as something of a no man’s land, where both sides could -- and often did -- intermingle with little fanfare. The high foot traffic, dark corners, and private rooms provided plenty of opportunity to blend in, and the constant warbling of the stage performers, partnered with the low rumble of voices and clinking glasses made eavesdropping almost impossible.  
  
Conversely, the same things that made it perfect also made it imperfect: The intermingling of Imperial and Republic meant traffic from both sides, civilian, military, and intelligence alike. This heightened the possibility of recognition or discovery. And the crowded atmosphere of the cantina, while concealing both features and conversation, made it difficult to recognize a mark; the constant din made it almost impossible to have a quiet, discreet conversation. Meeting in the private suites would solve that problem, but requesting one definitely heightened the possibility of discovery. There were, after all, only so many who could afford the entry. The security cams in such areas were also a little harder to defeat, should the need arise.  
  
So it was dressed as the average citizen, Imperial or Republic, that Mairen Bel Iblis entered the cantina and paused. The room itself was expansive, programmed light show emitting from the giant orb at center, casting a rainbow aura over the bar. Twi’lek holodancers, all glowing blue, danced on the bar, and at various locations throughout. Four terraces, each lined in neon, towered above the stage at the back of the room, providing access to the private suites, while a raucous band tuned up below. Wincing against the disorienting volume of the musicians, she shook her head and made her way down toward the central bar.  
  
The bartender, a Human male of moderate height, capped with a dark, shoulder-length bob, looked up as she approached. “Evenin’,” he said. He slid a drink to the blue Twi’lek at her left, then to the Human male to her right. “Lookin’ for a drink? Or a date?”  
  
Mairen allowed a wry smile to break over her features, rubbing her hands together. “Drink, thanks; the _date_ I can handle on my own,” she said. She was careful to revert back to her own speech patterns, dropping the Imperial accent she favored while in the Empire. “How about a Corellian whiskey -- neat?”  
  
“You got it,” the bartender replied. He reached under the bar counter, grabbing for a glass and a bottle, spinning both with the flair of a juggler. The bottle flew high into the air, centrifugal force keeping the fluid from spilling through the spout as it twirled, landing in his hand. He then poured a very substantial double into the tumbler, theatrically drawing the bottle up as the whiskey flowed.  
  
He then replaced the bottle on the shelf below the bar, placing the drink before Mairen with a napkin tucked underneath it. She offered a nod of thanks, placing a few credit chips onto the bar -- more than enough for the drink, and covering a decent tip… but not so much she would be remembered. “You new ‘round here?” he asked, pocketing the chips.  
  
Mairen shook her head, sipping her drink. “Nah,” she replied. The whiskey was clearly a well drink -- not swill, but not Whyren’s, either. She fought back a grimace. “Just don’t get much chance to stop in.”  
  
“Ah, busy bee, then.” The bartender busied himself wiping down the counter, removing empty glasses, napkins, and other detritus and placing them into their appropriate places behind the bar. “How you findin’ our Smuggler’s Moon?”  
  
“Fair to mid,” Mairen said. She swirled the whiskey around her glass, watching how it did or did not cling to the sides. That was when she sensed a presence approaching. Unlike most operatives, however, whomever she was meeting was not a black hole in the Force. Instead, they remained a presence, just… indistinct, unidentifiable. It was a trick few agents had mastered quite this well. “Always an interesting place to visit.”  
  
The agent approached as she diverted her attention to placing her glass perfectly centered on her napkin. Before her, the bartender looked up, nodded a greeting to the new arrival. “Be right with ya, sir,” he said.  
  
“No hurry,” said a strangely familiar male voice. It was almost Imperial, but… casually so, as though from one of the colonial worlds, mixed with the less formal basic of the Republic. She could feel his attention shift to her as he leaned against the bar. “Can’t imagine the drinks being much good here.”  
  
A charge swept down her spine and she felt the Force shift around her. It had done that only once before, over two years previous. Recognition settled over her, gaze falling on the features of Reanden Taerich even as the code phrase poured automatically from her lips, “Neon seems to hide a multitude of sins.”  
  
  
_Shit._ When he’d gotten the memo from SIS headquarters about an agent on Dromund Kaas for whom he was handler now, he hadn’t expected it to be her. The blasted, stubborn, prideful Director of Analysis was an SIS operative under his direction?  
  
It took a spy’s mastery of his own expression to keep his reaction from being visibly displayed. But behind his mental shields, he still let himself indulge in a long and colourful stream of varied alien expletives while his mouth formed the words for the coded response. “And shadows may bring those sins to light.” There wasn’t a drink in the galaxy strong enough to dull his frustration (well, not one that wasn’t immediately toxic for humans, anyway), so he contented himself instead with just leaning on the counter beside her and placing a few credits on the bartop. “Whyren’s if you have it, neat.”  
  
As the bartender moved to fetch the drink, Reanden let his gaze travel to the redhead beside him, noting how she seemed to be quite focused in perfectly centering her whiskey glass on her napkin. He didn’t have the Force, but he did have a lifetime in reading body language. Bel Iblis was very good at masking her non-verbal gestures, but he could still pick up on tension in her back, a fine line to her lips, a cautious look to her eyes.  
  
She cast him a sidelong glance, fingers now idly rotating her glass in quarter-turns on the napkin. He offered the proper response to her callout. This man -- this stubborn, arrogant, cynical old bastard was really her new handler -- the SIS principal agent and default station chief for Dromund Kaas. “You’re not at all what I expected,” she said. She reasoned that the bartender could draw his own conclusions.  
  
“Heh.” He allowed himself a smirk as the bartender produced his whiskey and took the credits. A sip determined that it was not, in fact, Whyren’s, but for Nar Shaddaa, this whiskey was still decent enough. The old spy shrugged inwardly. “I live to confuse the osik out of people,” he replied, his voice far closer to a Mid-Rim spacer’s drawl than the Imperial accent he’d adopted years ago. “One of life’s little joys.” One shoulder raised in a half-shrug as he gestured to her with his glass. “You get that, right? You seem the type to… perplex expectations too.” That was putting it mildly. Tonight’s staggering realization made his brain hurt.  
  
Mairen couldn’t help but give a snort of sarcastic laughter. “The life of a shadow,” she replied. She took a sip from the whiskey, a wry smile flickering across her lips. “And I’d say mission accomplished.” Looking back up to him, she was struck by the intermingled flicker of wonder and confusion she saw in his eyes. “On both counts, it seems.”  
  
He snorted in amusement. “You’re not wrong,” he confessed as he turned his back to the bar, leaning against it as he continued to ponder this new development. He smirked over the rim of his whiskey glass. “Call it a draw?” he asked, with more than one meaning to his words. If they were gonna be stuck working together, may as well try for a truce from the snarking… try being the operative word.  
  
“Maybe in private,” she answered. Sipping her own whiskey, she turned and, shifting her holster rig slightly, leaned her hip against the bar. “Too much of a public change too quickly and it’d be noticed.”  
  
“I can work with that,” he nodded. “Not the biggest fan of drawing attention, myself.” He lazily took a sip of his whiskey and let his gaze finally travel away from her and around the cantina, trying to not think about her use of that particular phrase and how she definitely meant it only in the context of being out of public view and not actually “in private.” Kriff, how long had it been now since he last let-off-steam? Eight months?  
  
He almost missed a familiar silhouette, and blinked once before lazily turning back around and offering her his arm. “Want to take this chat elsewhere?” _Somewhere far away from the cantina entrance…_  
  
She may not be able to read him, she thought, but she could tell a shift in demeanor when she saw it. Her gaze darted in the direction he’d been looking, then back to him with barely a flicker of inquiry. He didn’t want to be seen -- or shouldn’t be seen here, meeting her. “Hm, I could handle that,” she said. Downing the last of her drink, she placed the empty glass on the bar, hooking her hand around his arm. She allowed her voice to drop slightly. “I’ll just follow your lead.”  
  
For all that Bel Iblis was a Force-user who seemed determined to get under his skin at every possible chance, she was smart -- there was no denying that. _Thank whatever powers existed for that,_ Reanden thought to himself as he set his own empty glass down with hers, then led her on a wandering path away from the cantina entrance, slowly and casually. “Human; short brown hair, implant over his right eye,” he murmured. “He knows a… mutual acquaintance of ours. I’d really rather not have to make something up.”  
  
Throwing her head back in a laugh, she used the gesture to take a peek at the human in question. She placed her other hand over Taerich’s arm and stepped closer to him. “There’s always the opportunity to make the grapevine work for us,” she said, leaning in. “We are, after all, going to need an excuse to meet now and again, even on Dromund Kaas.”  
  
_You have got to be kidding me._ He’d done a lot of strange and unusual things during his career as a spy (.... and done some strange and unusual people too, but that was beside the point), but this? He tilted his head down and nuzzled her cheek, and tried to ignore how pleasantly-scented her hair was, or the heat he could feel from her skin, because this was an act, dammit. “You really think anyone will believe that, with our reputations?” he murmured, lips brushing against her ear before pulling away. He tilted his head in thought. “That being said, our mutual acquaintance’s reaction would be hilarious…” he added as a quiet afterthought.  
  
A warm rush swept over her, feeling his proximity -- his heat, his touch. She inhaled sharply, as he backed her into the corner, her shoulders brushing the wall behind her. Pulling on the Force, she vented the jumble of emotions and reactions stirring within her. She was, after all, still on the clock… with a man who continually made her life difficult… attractive and interesting as he might be. “Agent Cotuomo,” she said, realizing immediately whom he had to mean. She shrugged a shoulder, trailing a finger down the lapel of his jacket. “I have little doubt we could sell it. Such verbal repartee can be evidence of deep-seated, very unresolved passions…”  
  
Oh no. He was not doing this again. The last attractive woman to frustrate him as much as this one did had been his wife -- _his red-headed Corellian Jedi wife with SIS connections_. Was Bel Iblis a Jedi, too? _Kriff_ , he thought. He was not going to do this again, no matter how attractive she was or what their mission parameters were; he was _not_ going to admit any sort of attraction for the pretty Corellian who kept dancing on his nerves and poking every button she could find on him, and then some. Her words yanked him back abruptly to over twenty years ago, when he and the rival Jedi woman he’d been arguing with, with plenty of snark and sarcasm, suddenly found themselves in the back of a landspeeder… _Nope. Not again. Not thinking about that._ He inwardly groaned. _The Force hates me._  
  
But he couldn’t extricate himself from this, not with unfriendly eyes watching and reporting to that spoiled brat in the Citadel. So he leaned in to kiss her other cheek and felt vindicated when her pulse fluttered under his lips. He smirked. _Still got it._ “No idea what you’re talking about, _m’lord_ ,” he murmured against her skin. “Are we being watched?” With her Force-senses, she’d be able to tell far easier than he could.  
  
She cut him a glare, leaning in and nipping at his ear. She was rewarded with a stifled moan and allowed a smug grin to curl across her lips, even as she reached into the Force. “Your friend, _Agent Taerich,_ ” she said, her voice emerging far breathier than she wanted, “seems to be interested, possibly for different reasons. And the bartender is _highly_ amused.”  
  
“Wonderful,” he sarcastically muttered as he tilted his head to kiss along her jaw, finding her pulse point with his lips and smirking to himself when she softly gasped despite her best efforts. “I’d like to think I can get better reactions than just ‘highly amused’.”  
  
The fingers that traced his lapels now gripped them, pulling him to her, mouth crashing over his. “You arrogant prick,” she murmured drawing back only long enough to adjust her grip. “I’ll show you ‘better reactions.’”  
  
“Hmmm,” he murmured against her lips as his hands found new locations on her, one set of fingers tangling themselves in her long, surprisingly-soft hair as his other hand drifted down her back. “I think that’s the kindest thing you’ve called me yet.” He crushed her against him in another fierce kiss, and he wasn’t sure if he was pleased he’d gotten such a reaction out of her, or somewhat annoyed with himself because he could feel his blood surge, and the reminder that it had been some time since he’d last gotten --  
  
A tap on his shoulder made him break away from her with a gasp. “It’s a cantina, not a brothel,” growled the Zabrak bouncer to his left, glaring at the pair of them. “Unless you got permits for a show, get a room.”  
  
Mairen forced a smile, blinking out of the haze. Her body was more than aware of his, and keenly acquainted with the fact that it had been some time since she, herself, had found a suitable partner, one who sparked any sort of emotional reaction from her. This was not exactly the response she’d imagined. Worse yet, she felt her connection to the Force humming through her in a way she had not experienced before. There was no time to ponder the meaning at present.  
  
“Sorry,” she said, stepping aside and smoothing her rumpled shirt and hair. A gust of cool air swept up her back as she did. _When had he untucked her shirt?_ Reaching around, she tucked the tails back in, inwardly shaking her head, then reaching for his hand. Her other raked through his, smoothing the closely-cropped hair over his ears and at the nape of his neck. “It’s… been a while since we’ve, ah, seen each other. W-we’ll make other arrangements.”  
  
Her eyes darted toward the dark-haired agent across the room. His attention had been taken by a lovely Twi’lek dancer, curves enhanced by the swirl and sway of her hips. She wondered how long his attention had been diverted, and inwardly cursed herself for her own distraction.  
  
It did _not_ , however, mean that she was done with Agent Taerich.  
  
He forced a smile and started making his way past the bouncer and the disappointed-looking bartender, acutely aware of her fingers intertwining with his and trying to ignore the sensation of her fingertips running through his short hair. He still couldn’t stop a shiver at her touch on his neck. “We’ll, uh… be going.” Kriff, he hadn’t been that at a loss for words since he’d been a rookie agent. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d let himself get so distracted on a mission either. And he was still distracted, truth be told… all he could focus on was her, the feeling of her hand in his, the lingering taste of her on his lips, the way all the blood in his body seemed to have migrated south…  
  
He swallowed hard as they made their way back out of the Slopes, moving far too slowly for his liking, and still too quickly for him to figure out a plan, when all that he wanted was to find somewhere reasonably out of the way to _deal with this_ before it got to be more of a distraction. _That usually works, right? Let off the steam, release the building tension, and life goes back to normal…_  
  
_Not when it’s a pretty red-haired Corellian Force-user in question_ , a little voice muttered in his mind, and he nearly groaned again. No, this was not going to be a repeat of his time with Airna! The pair exited the cantina’s entry ramp, and Reanden’s keen eyes landed on the nearby holocall booths. His heart started racing again within his chest, and he had to force himself to speak slowly and quietly when he turned back toward her. “If you don’t want this,” he murmured, “say something…” And truth be told, he wasn’t sure whether he wanted her to push him away or drag him toward one of those kiosks.  
  
She gave an exhale through pursed lips, her own heart beating double time, blood coursing through her faster than a swoop. Her eyes locked with his and she adjusted her grip on his hand. Her lips thinned as she drew them taut between her teeth. Against her better judgement, she wanted this -- wanted _him_ \-- and didn’t want to think about how right that felt. There was nothing left to say.  
  
Between her lack of protests -- he knew that if she hadn’t wanted this, she could easily have Force-thrown him across the promenade -- and that look in her eyes, the one that he was sure mirrored in his own gaze… he wasn’t sure if this would solve a problem or create a larger one. It was, at least, an immediate, short-term solution for the pressure he could feel against the fly of his trousers. He tightened his hold on her hand as he tugged her toward one of the holocall kiosks and tried to forget that this was officially one of the agents under his direction in Imperial space.  
  
_Just one time_ , he thought to himself as he found himself leaning in for another kiss, one that made him groan despite his self-control. _Once to deal with this damn tension, and we never speak of this again…_

* * *

  
Sometime later, Mairen smoothed her hands over his chest as he adjusted his holster rig. Once he considered it properly settled, his hands came to rest automatically on her hips, a small smile playing across their features. They stood in silence for a long moment, neither quite sure what to say. She was finally the first to speak: “That was… something.”  
  
Reanden gave a chuckle, glanced down, then cleared his throat as he looked to her. He was not going to apologize for something they, as two professional adults, clearly enjoyed. And he was definitely not going to think about just _how much_ he enjoyed it. “It was,” he said. “It also… can’t happen again.”  
  
“Oh, no,” Mairen said. “Definitely not. I mean, heat of the moment --”  
  
“Blowing off steam --”  
  
“Exactly.”  
  
He nodded.  
  
She nodded.  
  
“I should -- “ Mairen gestured toward the door of the booth.  
  
“Right.”  
  
Drawing his hands away -- reluctantly -- he stepped back in the small space, watching as she re-engaged the internal cameras and opened the lock. With a quiet hiss, the door slid away, the cooler air of the greater Promenade wafting in. She paused, then leaned over, placing a kiss against his cheek. “Thank you,” she said. A wry grin curled across her lips and she turned, heading in the general direction of the spaceport.  
  
Reanden stood watching her retreating form as though in a daze, not entirely sure of what just happened. It was only with an internal slap that he was able to jar himself back to reality. He firmly shook his head and turned away, taking a longer, more circuitous route back to the spaceport and his own ship.  
  
He settled in at the controls with a heavy sigh.  
  
_This was going to be a problem._


End file.
